


Prada-sitting

by IambicKentameter, orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bad Haircuts, Based on a Tumblr Post, Drabbles, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, dog-sitting, implied almost-sex, vine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-09 11:12:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5537735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IambicKentameter/pseuds/IambicKentameter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The week Stiles and Derek had to watch Prada for Lydia while she was out of town, the dog noticed some things. Like, which of the two were more likely to break their phone, or which one spent the most time on the computer. </p><p>(Based off of this tumblr post:http://chezaru.tumblr.com/post/135548065819/argpara-moved-send-me-a-ship-and-ill-tell )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Who The Fuck Put The Peeps In The Microwave- Stiles, Obviously.

“Stiles!!” Derek shouted down the stairs to where Stiles and Scott were playing some Kinect dancing game with the addition of vodka shots every time one of them lost.

“Babe, I’m busy!” Stiles shouted back.

Derek huffed and marched down the stairs, holding the rotating plate thing from the bottom of the microwave up when he finally reached the last step. “Hey!” He snapped. “Care to explain this?”

Stiles glanced at it before turning back to Nicki Minaj’s silhouette dancing away on the screen. “Der, I’m kinda busy right now…”

“We talked about this, Stiles.” He pointed to the crusty brown remnants of burned peep glued to the microwave dish. Prada, who was sitting on the couch behind them, bounded over to Derek,  _very_ interested in whatever crusty sugar was on that disk thing in the werewolf's hand. 

“But, they’re no good cold!” Scott protested, Waving his arms along with Stiles and looking more like an octopus in a sand pit than a dancing officianato. “They have to be puffy and warm!”

“Shut up!” Derek snapped at his alpha. “This is not your fight.”

“Sorry.” Scott mumbled.

“You can’t expect him _not_ to microwave them-”

“Scott, you use a god-damn plate. Or a napkin.” Derek growled, tossing the glass plate onto the couch. “You have to clean it up this time.” He marched back up the stairs, stomping up every one heavily to make his point. “You use a _Goddamn plate, Stiles!!”_

Stiles looked to Scott and shrugged before continuing to dance.


	2. Who Forgot to Put the [Dog] Outside Before Sex-Derek.

“Der…” Stiles swatted at Derek’s shoulder, trying to get his attention.

Derek pulled his mouth off of Stiles’ cock with a pop. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

“No, no babe, You’re fine.” Stiles shook his head. “It’s just… why didn’t you let the dog out?”

Derek looked to where Stiles was looking and noticed Prada (who they were dog sitting for Lydia) sitting in the doorway, ears perked up, tail wagging. 

“Oh.” Derek said, and before he could do anything, Prada bounced over to them, sitting near the edge of their bed and looking up at them. “He's no harm.”

Derek ducked back under the covers to continue his previous work, only to have Stiles give his hair a tug. 

“What?” Stiles squawked. “No, he is most certainly a harm!”

“It’s not like he's up here with us.” 

“But he’s… he’s watching.” Stiles said. “He can see everything.”

Derek snorted. “He’s a dog, we’re under the covers. It’s not a big deal.”

Stiles sighed. “My boner’s gone.” He struggled under the sheets to shove Derek off and tug his boxers back on. “Seriously, Derek? You can’t use your wolf mind powers to make him go away?”

“Even if I could do that, I don’t care enough to try.” Derek’s hand snaked around Stiles’ waist and he kissed his neck, trying to sway Stiles back into the mood. 

“Stop it.” Stiles shoved Derek away and got out of bed, scooping up the tiny pomeranian in both hands and holding him like a football, and setting him outside their bedroom door. He sut it in the puny dog’s face.

Stiles turned to find Derek sprawled out on their bed, hands folded behind his head. “You good?”

Stiles sighed. “It’s better than it was.” He crawled back up, this time on top of Derek, who hummed in satisfaction. Stiles bent down to peck his lips, dragging his mouth down to Derek’s neck. 

But just as he moved to suck a brief bruise their, Prada began whining from behind the door, scratching at the wood with his itty bitty paws. 

“That’s it.” Stiles snapped, barrel rolling off of Derek and swinging the door open. “Sex is over. You can come in now.”

Prada yipped shortly and softly, as if to say “ _ Thank you good sir. I shall now take my rightful place on the throne of men _ ” before hopping up on their bed.

Derek pouted at Stiles with his big puppy eyes.

“Don’t even fucking try it.” Stiles snapped. “You want to tag this ass, you put the damn dog outside.”


	3. Who is more likely to get kicked out of bed-Stiles

“Hey.” Derek shoved at Stiles, who was currently curled around his torso with the entirety of his body. When Stiles didn’t budge, he shoved again. “Hey!” 

Stiles snorted and blinked himself awake. “Yeah? Yep? I’m up.”

“Finally.” Derek sighed. “Babe… Baby, I love you. I do, you know that.”

“Oh shit, not this again.” Stiles rolled his eyes again.

“I have a six AM shift tomorrow.”

“And?” Stiles whined. “Can’t you just let me sleep? I have to get up eventually too.”

“Stiles, it’s two in the fucking morning and you’re snoring in my face!” Derek snapped. “It’s 2AM and you’re tossing and turning and just… go, please, Stiles, I have serious work in the morning.”

“Derek, the couch is lumpy…” Stiles whined.

“We have seven guest rooms. Please… please, I love you, but I need to sleep.”

Stiles sighed and kissed Derek’s cheek before scooping up his pillow and retreating to a different room, Prada on his heels. 


	4. Who Dies First- Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, no Archive warnings apply

“...Derek…” Stiles choked out a sob, laying his head on Derek’s lap forlornly.

“Stiles. Please don't do this…” Derek grunted.

“Derek, I love you!” Stiles clutched at his chest. “please don't die on me. I need you, I… I love you.”

“Ow, fuck, Stiles, you're hurting me.”

“I'm sorry!” He moved his hand away from Derek’s chest. “Did I accidentally touch a wound?”

“No, asshole, you're laying on my balls.” Derek grunted and shoved him off. “If you're going to be this dramatic every time I die, I'm not playing Halo with you anymore.”

Stiles sat up, pouting. “Jesus, I'm just trying to make it fun for you. You die so much in this goddamn game, I thought I'd spice it up.”

Derek set his controller on the side table and stood.

“Don't go, Der.” Stiles frowned, sitting up on the couch.

“I'm going to start on dinner, you keep playing your game.” He leaned over the back of the couch and pecked Stiles’ lips. “I like that you're so concerned about me dying. Just maybe not every thirty minutes when somebody gets me with a gravity hammer, yeah?”

“Whatever.” Stiles shouted after him.


	5. Who Uses The Computer The Most- Stiles

“Stiles.” Derek tapped his fingers on the wall beside him impatiently. “Stiles, can I use the computer?”

“One sec, in the middle of something.” Stiles didn’t even look away from the computer screen. The computer they _shared._

“Stiles, I can see you.” Derek snapped. “You’re just playing World of Warcraft with Scott, which you could do on your laptop.”

“But the desktop has the ethernet cable!” Stiles protested. “My laptop would lag, and this is important!”

“Stiles, I can see the fucking screen! You’re just dancing around with Scott, who, if you’ve forgotten, lives just down the street from us! You could literally walk to his house and dance with him in real life.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You can't slash dance in real life, Derek. It’s not like that. This is fun. Human interaction is not.”

“Alright.” Derek shrugged, putting on his pouty bitch face. “I believe you. Better cancel any human interaction I had planned for you tonight.”

Stiles’ head whipped around at that. “You had plans for us tonight?!”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Maybe. I was going to try being spontaneous now and again, now that we’re living together and the least masculine dog in the world is fucking with our sex schedule.”

“I still protest to the concept of a sex schedule in the first place.” Stiles grumbled. “Could try being a little more sudden, just like, lay me down and take what you want instead of waiting for Thursday to roll around…”

Derek’s lips were on Stiles’ neck at that moment, kissing and sucking at his pulse point- gently, he did have work in the morning. Stiles let out a soft moan, his eyes glazing over and his hands hovering over the keyboard. “Oh god, Derek.”

“Been awhile…” Derek hummed, moving his mouth up to Stiles’ ear to tease his lobe.

“Since before Lydia dumped Prada on us.” Stiles affirmed, voice shaking. He frantically typed out “AFK” into the chat bar, before standing and grabbing Derek by his collar, forcing their lips together.

“Wait, can I use the-”

“You can use it after we bone down.” Stiles insisted, shoving Derek into the wall and hiking his leg up around Derek’s leg. “And I’ll move to my laptop.”

“Thank god…” Derek growled before grabbing two handfuls of Stiles’ ass and hauling him back to their room.


	6. Who Breaks The Most Phones- Derek

“Derek!” Stiles said, walking into the living room, where Derek was watching TV, Prada cuddled up on his chest. Stiles held something small and shattered in his hands. “I thought we talked about this!” He showed Derek what was in his hands, the broken pieces of a smartphone that Stiles had given Derek for Christmas. 

“Ah.” Derek said, petting Prada. “There’s a warranty on it. It should be fine, Stiles.”

“Derek no you can’t keep breaking phones because you don’t understand how they work.”

“That’s a completely valid reason.”

“Not really. It’s just like a small computer, and you sort of get those, don’t you?”   
“Yes, Stiles. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I think the shattered remains of this phone shows which one of us is being ridiculous.”

“Sorry.” Derek shrugged, not sounding sorry at all. “Why can’t I keep my old phone, Stiles? Why is this so important to you?”

“So I can send you meeeeeemmmmmeeees!” Stiles whined, stretching the word out to be dramatic.

“Are those the boxes with question marks in them that you send me all the time?”

Derek was rewarded for his petulance with a sharp smack to the head, delivered via a rolled up  _ Game Informer  _ magazine.


	7. Who Thinks They Can Do Something Really Well, Even Though They Can't -Stiles

Derek gasped upon entering the living room, where Stiles was sitting on the floor with Prada. Or… what used to be Prada.

“Hey Der.” Stiles grinned. “What’s up, babe?”

“I… what did you do to that dog?”

“I gave him a haircut. He needed it, trust me.” Stiles brushed his fingers through the poor dog’s uneven fur.

Prada was now bald in some places, and the fur on his tail and ears were horribly uneven. 

“Stiles…” Derek said, mortified. “You’ve brutalized him.”

“What?” Stiles scoffed. “I’m great at dog grooming. All I need is a comb and a pair of kitchen scissors, and I am golden.”

“Did you used to practice on yourself?”

Stiles grinned, proud. “How could you tell?”

“Because you had a buzz cut for 11 years.” Derek droned. “I’m taking that dog to petsmart, maybe they can fix what you’ve done.”


	8. Who Could Be Lactose Intolerant -Derek

 

Which One Could Be Lactose Intolerant- Derek

Stiles stopped by Derek on his way out the door, dropping an impromptu kiss on Derek’s lips, who happened to be looking up at the time. “Bye, babe.”

“Where are you going?” Derek frowned, watching him bound for the door.

“Scott and I are going to get ice cream. You want to come?”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t like ice cream.”

Stiles gasped dramatically. “You  _ don’t like ice cream?! _ God, why are we even together?!”

“Derek doesn’t like anything good.” Scott said, appearing in the doorway. “He hates Pizza and Fettuccine Alfredo and Cereal and cupcakes, and now he hates ice cream. He’s a fun sucker, Stiles, always has been.”

“I’m not a fun sucker.” Derek pouted. “I’m just…  _ acmursh ntrlent _ …”

“Sorry, couldn’t hear that.” Stiles’ mouth flattened in a sarcastic grimace. “What was that last bit?” 

“I’m lactose intolerant!” He barked. “Born werewolves usually are, to some degree.”

Stiles covered his mouth to hide his laughter. “There’s  _ got _ to be a dog joke in there somewhere.”

“Stiles…” Derek sighed.

“No no no, babe, this makes so much sense…” Stiles rushed back to his side, taking his face in both hands. “Oh man, I’m going to stop sneaking cheese in your tacos, I swear, you beautiful ironic bastard.” Stiles pecked his lips repeatedly. “Mm, I love you and all your weirdness.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “Thanks babe.”

Stiles grabbed both of his hands and tugged at him. “Come with us, babe. They have sorbet. No dairy, just cold, creamy, fruity goodness.”

“We’ll go to that place where they serve dog ice cream too.” Scott smirked.

“Oh my god Scott, I can eat people ice cream, I just-”

Scott cut him off by pointing to the car, where Prada was already sitting in the passenger seat. “He wants to come too.”


	9. Who Posts Vines Of The Other Doing Stupid Shit -Both

“Babe?” Stiles turned on Derek, quickly. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, nothing, I’m just, uh… nothing.”

“Show me!” Stiles shouted, lunging over the couch and grabbing for Derek’s phone. “Show me!”

“It’s nothing, Stiles!”

But Derek’s werewolf reflexes weren’t faster than Stiles’ lanky frame. “You took a vine of me?? Sneezing?!”

“You hit yourself in the face with a game controller. I was lucky I got it on camera.” Derek grinned. “It’s already posted, Stiles, you can’t-”

“You have a Vine account?! Who gave you a Vine account?!”

“Scott helped me set it up. You do some pretty hilarious shit, Stiles, It’s too good not to post.”

Stiles frowned. “And here I thought  _ I  _ was the worst boyfriend in the world.”

“What did you do.” Derek accused. Stiles saying something like that was usually a tried-and-true indication that he’d done something.

“You never tried looking me up on Vine?” Stiles smirked. Oh god, this had to be bad.

Without another second of thought, Derek typed his boyfriend’s name into the search bar, and clicked on the first profile that displayed a photo of Stiles. 

What he found was astounding. 

“How do you have 216 Vines?! That’s so many Vines!”

“You do a lot of cute things, Derek. Now, some of them are of Scott and I, but  _ you… _ ”

The most recent one on the feed had 3,600 loops already, and it had only been posted that morning. It showed Derek at the breakfast table with a piece of toast and a plate of eggs, Prada laying on Stiles’ side of the table, where his plate would usually sit. After a moment, Prada snuck forward, thinking Derek was too preoccupied with his copy of  _ Blood Meridian _ to notice a tiny dog scootching across a table to his eggs. “Prada…” Derek warned, looking up at the dog, who froze. “Dude, we talked about this.” Derek looked disappointed in the tiny pomeranian. Then the video looped. 3,601.

“Where were you when you taped this?” Derek frowned.

“I was in the living room, peeking over the couch. Duh.” Stiles grinned. “You know, if we tagged each other in stuff, I bet we’d get twice the re-vines.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you sometimes, Stiles.”

“You love me.”

“I do love you.” Derek pecked his cheek, glancing at his boyfriend’s phone. “Did you just Vine that?! What the hell, Stiles?!”


End file.
